


The Fine Art of Antivan Dagger Play

by animasevera



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Body Worship, Consensual Sex, Cunnilingus, Custom Warden, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Masturbation, Sexy Zevran, Shameless Smut, Spanking, Sparring, Training
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-29
Updated: 2017-07-29
Packaged: 2018-12-08 13:45:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11647761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/animasevera/pseuds/animasevera
Summary: Albine needs to expand her skills beyond simple magic if she wants to keep up with friends and foes on the battlefield. Zevran is more than happy to teach.





	The Fine Art of Antivan Dagger Play

Zevran wiped his brow as he watched Albine drop the spare dagger he had lent her yet again. When her back was turned, he subtly shook his head and sighed. _Patience_ , he admonished himself as he stepped to her side.  
  
"My Warden," he called for her attention as he drew his own blade. "You do not slash with a dagger as you would a sword." As he explained, he demonstrated the incorrect gesture, with a subtly exaggerated flick of his wrist so as to allow the weapon to slip from his grip. "A sword is heavy, meant for undelicate flailing about."  
  
"Gets the job done," Albine retorted, somewhat offended at his slight of her preferred weapon.  
  
"Indeed," said the assassin as he rotated his dagger into the proper position. "But we are here to train you with a dagger, yes?" The tone he took as a teacher was more serious and full of intent than usual. "And...if I may be so brutally honest, your sword technique leaves much to be desired."  
  
"...Should I even bother with a weapon?" the Warden fretted, staring at the dagger in her hand. "I mean, I picked up a sword just to defend myself when I ran out of mana." She remembered once hearing that the Circle used to train mages in the fundamentals of armed combat a while back, but for some reason it was discontinued and the Templars took over that entire floor.  
  
Zevran gently clicked his tongue, as he often did. "I never thought of you as one to give up so easily, my lady." Tucking his own blade back into its sheath, he came around to face her. "Come now, do not get discouraged. I said I would teach you, and so I shall." He held out a hand for the dagger in hers.  
  
Albine lightly flicked the dagger over so its handle landed in his palm. "Good luck with that," she mused halfheartedly as she stood back to watch him. Learning new material was so much easier when it came from a book.  
  
He chuckled. "Fortunately for you, I happen to appreciate a challenge. You gave me one, and I accepted...but that is neither here nor there. We are here to teach you the art of the kill." With his free hand, he gestured to draw her attention to the dagger in the other. "For now, I only wish you to listen and observe. These senses must be as fine as your blade, if you wish to succeed."  
  
Albine's head had begun to droop; the sleepless nights had begun to catch up with her. "R-right..." she murmured, attention distracted by the light dancing off the dagger.  
  
The errant Crow's bronze brows laced together as he watched her with a sigh. This sort of thing would have gotten him beaten on the spot years ago - the memories managed to climb back out of the hole he had banished them to. His stomach visibly tightened, and he rubbed his temple as he tried to regain his ground. Licking his lips, he tucked his hand into a pouch on his belt and retrieved a small throwing knife.  
  
_TWANG._  
  
The Warden jumped with a shriek as the blade sailed within inches of her head and embedded in the bark of the tree behind her. Stunned speechless, she shot Zevran a stare like a frightened deer. "...Maker's sake, what was that for?"  
  
"A warning," he explained as he approached the tree to retrieve the dagger. As he dropped it back in his belt pouch, he locked eyes with her. The golden ember usually present in his own seemed uncannily cold. "If I had flicked my wrist just a twitch to the left, I could have killed you with one blow. Imagine how easy it'd be for any one of the other Crows. Besides..." His voice slipped down into a silky hiss. "I, for one, prefer you alive. This is why..." A single, silent step, and he was behind her, arm snaking under hers and around her waist as his lips hovered in the space next to her ear. "I need your completely..." The other hand, still holding the dagger, brought its keen tip so close to her neck she could no longer see it. "Undivided..." The hiss became a slow, smoky vibration against her neck. "...Attention."  
  
She gasped a breath that became trapped in her chest as pale eyelashes fluttered over hazing lavender eyes. The same breath soon worked itself free in a giddy sigh that ended in a giggle. "Well...if you want it, you've got it."  
  
"Mmm...good," he purred, moving his hand from her hip to her hand on the same side. "Your attention is the most important tool at your disposal. You must be aware of threats from every angle. Even the tiniest, most innocent-looking trinket could conceal a needle coated in a poison so deadly as to kill with a few drops."  
  
"Will you teach me poisons?" she asked, her heart rate jumping at the sudden feeling of danger in his words. Her hand twitched under his practiced touch.  
  
"Perhaps," he answered, "but that will be for another day. Now, we are working on your skill with a blade." He displayed the blade's flat to her so she could see the blurry shape of her reflection in the metal. "You must first understand exactly what you are wielding. It is not simply a tool of the kill, it is your only true ally." The words flowed from his lips nearly verbatim to the way he heard them in his own training. "You must become as intimate with it as you would a lover - not literally, of course." A teasing chuckle bubbled up from his throat. "Well, unless you are into knife play." `  
  
The fact that he still had her in a close embrace only smoothed the way the words rolled from his lips. "...Go on." The blade's face reflected the deep blush in hers.  
  
"The blade itself," he continued as he uncoiled himself from her, "is the least important part of the weapon." With vigilant care, he gripped the blade closest to the hilt and showed her the handle. "This is where the magic happens, as it were. The grip, _il manico_ , obviously." A tap of his thumb showed her the crosspiece dividing blade from grip. "Here, the crossguard, _il quillon._ " To keep your hand from slipping up onto the edge. You can imagine what would happen next." Loosing his fingers just so, he allowed the dagger to fall and caught it between them once again just before it slipped free. "And at last, the pommel... _il pomello_ , of course." he pointed the mentioned section at her. "To keep it from flying away and stabbing some poor fellow through the heart...I saw that happen to one of my former colleagues who had bought a cheaply-made dagger. It...was not pretty."  
  
The mental image Albine had was far more humorous than Zevran intended. "Oh dear..." she said with a small chuff. "I'd hate to be either one of them. How'd the Crows take it?" Her eyes were still attentively drawn to his dextrous fingers and the blade cradled between them.  
  
He felt his throat tighten at the mention of the Crows again, but forced himself to swallow his discomfort to answer her question. "The assassin himself _did_ manage to kill his mark, so he was allowed to live. But for the imprudent decision of choosing an inferior weapon, he was made to forfeit his pay. The one who suffered most was actually the weaponsmith." The blade gently swayed back and forth under his knuckles before he twirled it back up into his usual grip. "It was discovered that several other agents had bought from his shop, and each one of them had some flaw that was fatal to perhaps all _but_ the intended mark. They allowed him to live...but cut off the hand that held his hammer and blinded him with coals from his own forge." His eyes tightened as he watched Albine visibly wince. "He was left a maimed beggar. A fitting punishment, they said, for one who would attempt to profit from deceiving the Crows." The sourness in his voice was palpable.  
  
"...Did you agree?" she asked, pointedly. There was a cold sense of justice about it, but Albine, as acting Warden-Commander, could never see herself doing something so barbaric.  
  
"It did not matter," he clarified, "I would not have been able to safely voice it. But," He felt his voice catch on his own painful memories. "No, personally, I did not agree. I personally believed it was better to drive him and his business out of Antiva, where they would do no further harm to our reputation."  
  
"...And what about now?" she continued questioning him.  
  
Zevran felt his gut clamp and his brows pressing together. "...My Warden, we are getting dreadfully sidetracked. Do you wish to learn the art of dagger play...or no?" he asked, frankly and with some impatience.  
  
"Nooo," the Warden retorted, lightly throwing her head back. "I'm just here to stand about and watch you look pretty. Besides, _you're_ the one who distracted _me_. Seems like that's what you're good at."    
  
He was unable to hold back laughter at her near-verbatim quote of his own words when they had first met. "Touche, my dear. Now, If we've no further distractions aside from each other, let us sharpen your skills to match your wit. Where were we?" The question was more of her own awareness than his.  
  
"Parts of a dagger," she confirmed, "Blade - obvious, that - grip, crossguard, pommel."  
  
"Good, good!" He praised her retention. "Now, I tell you all this because much of the art of dagger play is about where you put the weight. A well-made dagger is balanced for a quick change of position." He used slow, fluid movements with the dagger to keep her eye on him. "Here, we come right back around to the wielding." Turning the dagger handle-out, he returned it to her and unsheathed his own. "There are two major grips you must learn. First," He pointed the dagger out toward her. "The forward grip."  
  
"I actually know that one a bit," said Albine," mimicking the grip he displayed.  
  
The assassin beamed with pride at his pupil's quick learning. "Brava! Clever as always." Dextrously, he spun the grip between his fingers until the blade pointed in the other direction. "And here, the reverse grip."  
  
"You mean the _stabby_ grip." A witty crook nestled in the corner of Albine's lips as she reversed her own grip at his instruction.  
  
Zevran laughed aloud. "Yes, yes, the _stabby_ grip. But also, a useful defensive posture, especially if you are wielding two blades." He demonstrated this by crossing the wielding arm over his chest, with the blade still pointing out. "They have to get through your arms before they can get to your vitals. There are more complex techniques for blocking blows with the crossguard, but one must learn to crawl before walking, as it were."  
  
"Yeah," said the Warden, to let him know she was listening. As she watched him, though, she began to recall seeing him fight. There was a measured, deadly grace in every strike he dealt, as fluid as the blood he drew. He was merciless, precise, but not aggressive so much as he was purely immersed in the experience, with a keen glint in his eye and a wide, almost dissonantly carefree grin. Even as the enemy's blood spurted across his face, he was in his own element, if not that element itself. This was all a dance, a _game_ to him. He seemed to not even care if he lived or died. Even the grave matter of the Blight failed to dampen his spirits.  
  
The man was nothing if not an enigma. He presented the facade of a shallow, lecherous fool, behind which she had found unexpected honesty and surprisingly pleasant conversation. Every encounter she had with him left her burden somehow lightened, which she could not always say for her other companions. Underneath it all, though, she knew he carried pain deeper than he would ever allow himself to express. Trying to drag it out of him would be a fool's errand; previous attempts had led to him growing evasive, defensive and eventually frustrated. Even so, she felt a compulsion to offer her support where he needed it.  
  
"...and then you thrust--..." As he caught sight of the daydreaming haze in her eyes, he smiled and shook his head. "...Distracted again, are we?"  
  
"N-no!" Albine fibbed as she mirrored his stance, albeit without near the finesse.  
  
Zevran was far too savvy to believe her mind had not at least partially wandered, but he would take what focus he could get from her, at this point. "Right then," he nodded to her, holding the dagger out to draw her eye to it before returning to his stance. "You thrust the blade out in a lifting strike, like so." He turned his back to her, extending his arm in a graceful stretch toward an imaginary target.  
  
She could feel herself getting distracted again. This time, by the fine lines that defined his muscular structure, and the beads of sweat gently meandering down them. The wind flagged his sun-bleached hair, scattering it around his naked shoulders. "R-right...lifting," she said vacantly as she imitated the motion, her stance wavering and imprecise.  
  
He didn't even have to look at her to tell she still wasn't focused - her voice told him all he needed to know. It was at least somewhat entertaining, though, watching her mind wander and knowing he was the cause. He would not call her on it yet; she deserved to think about something that _wasn't_ fighting, for once, and he was nothing if not glad to provide that service. "Yes," he went on, letting just a hint of silk slip into his tone as he went into a relaxed posture. "That strike will pierce between the ribs, if done correctly. Best for close quarters, though," he pointed out with a suggestive gleam in his eye.  
  
"I can think of a few /other/ things that are good in close quarters..." she muttered to herself, barely even pretending to focus on the lesson.  
  
He chuckled knowingly as he casually twirled his blade between his fingers. "And there are many, _many_ other thrusts I have yet to teach you."  
  
"Good thing I have such a good teacher." She was much quicker on the draw with words than with a blade.  
  
He began a cavalier stride into her reach, his smirk reaching for his ear. "And I am ever fortunate to have such an _attentive_ charge." Sheathing the dagger, he extended a hand with his palm up to catch hers. "Mmm...I believe this particular lesson is over for today, no?"  
  
She tucked her hand into the offered one, leaning over to cradle her own dagger in the split of the nearby tree. Her now-free hand found its resting place at his shoulder, her fingers gingerly admiring the fine sculpt of his sinews. "I still have a lot of studying to do."  
  
He lifted her hand to his lips, brushing them against the back of it and drawing her into his arms. "Then come, my dear, and let us practice another sort of dance."  
  
The smell of hot leather, steel, and salty sweat had grown as familiar to her as the Fade. She cupped his sharp, strong jaw in both hands, bringing her lips to meet his, drinking in and savoring his presence in her senses. Her hands traveled over his shoulders, pressing into the muscles of his back and shoulder blades. The heat of his body kindled another kind of heat inside her.  
  
He let out a pleased hum as he tightened the embrace, hands meeting at the small of her back and working their way further down along the laces of her armor. "Shall we go back to the tent?" he asked in a low, breathy hiss, "Or are you bold enough to--"  
  
"Here. Now." The Warden's commands were swift and direct, and her violet eyes alight.  
  
Zevran's heart skipped a beat, and he chuckled softly against her neck before kissing it. "Well, then. Here and now it shall be...but might I have a moment before we begin?"  
  
"What for?" Albine asked, impatience creeping into the edges of her tone.  
  
Before he broke away from her, he planted an inviting kiss on her jaw. "I was simply going to lay a pelt out so we could avoid such unpleasantries as thorns and splinters in our most intimate regions." With that, he unrolled the pelt he had been carrying and let it unfurl completely on the ground, sprawling out on it and casting her an inviting gaze. "Now..." he purred, "Shall we go on?"  
  
He hardly needed to say another word. Once he had taken his own place on the fur, she had already begun crawling over to join him. "Good idea. Both the pelt, and what we're going to do on it." The caress of soft wolf fur was definitely preferable to whatever was beneath it.  
  
"I like this eagerness of yours, my lovely Warden. It makes me all the more eager to please." Sitting back up, he held her as he did before, pressing heated kisses against the other side of her neck. "Mmm...If I ever forget how beautiful you are, go ahead and throw me to the Darkspawn, because my mind would would surely be gone."  
  
The Warden winced mildly at the sudden morbid turn of their usually pleasant pillow talk, but quickly found a way to bring it back to more desirable territory. "Now why would I want to do that?" Soft white fingers left trails of magic down the assassin's lithe back before she seized his jaw for another heated exchange of breath. "You've still got eyes. Besides...do you really think I'd let the Darkspawn take anything else of mine away?"  
  
"Mmm, so I am yours, now?" he teased, working the laces of her tunic loose and tugging it up from her head and arms. "I have been claimed by a gorgeous, charming, devastatingly cunning woman, who also happens to be merciful and brave to boot." He punctuated the flattery with a peck at the mage's collarbone. "Ah...I can say fate has dealt me far worse hands."  
  
"Does that mean she dealt a winner this time?" It had grown easy, and even fun, for Albine to match wit and word with her elven companion. It was different somehow from the acts of purposeful deflection she had engaged in in the Circle as a matter of self-preservation. It had also occurred to her that this may have been his own motive, at least at first. Since then, though, such fears seemed to have been extinguished from the both of them. This, she thought, must have been what freedom felt like. That, and scattered kisses on her skin without a trace of the way she would flinch when touched.  
  
His laughter rang warm and velvety in the early autumn air. "I suppose she did! But I assure you..." Gingerly, he lowered her onto the pelt without skipping a beat on kissing her breasts. "We are both winners here." While his lips contoured her chest, his hands set to work freeing her from the belts on her hips and waist - a deceptively simple task.  
  
Her fingers crept under his waistband, sliding across the smooth, bare skin of his backside - he wasn't wearing smalls. The flex and form of his tight muscles subtly pressed into her searching touch. As she went further down, her thumbs caught the hem of fabric and pulled it along his thighs. "Looks like I've found my prize."  
  
The chilly breeze raised goose-flesh on his now-exposed skin, and he shivered against the brisk rush in his blood as his teeth briefly chattered. "And I've found myself with a chill." He raised his hips in the air, showing off the curve of his ass and spine as an inviting fire burned in his eyes. "My Warden..." he purred, "You have heat at your very fingertips. Perhaps you might like to warm me up?"  
  
Before he finished making the offer, her hands had already begun gathering mana. "Among other things..." She made loose trails of warmth against naked copper flesh, moving slowly so as to take in every inch her fingers caressed. "You do know I'm going to be thinking about your arse every time you talk to me from now on, yeah?" It was a statement made as casually as if she were pointing out something caught in his hair.  
  
He answered at first with a pleasant sigh, lowering his hips until he lay flat to bask in her protection from the cold. "You say that as if it should offend me," he said as he rested his chin on her belly and gazed up at her. "On the contrary, my sweet, I am delighted to be such a pleasant diversion." Dextrous fingers unlaced her chemise, pulling it over her arms and laying it aside. Once free, his hands sought out her full breasts, fingers delicately tracing the scars on soft marble skin. Throwing out any notion of resisting temptation, he took one in each hand and buried his face in the space between them, inhaling her scent with a deep, lustful breath. She smelled of snow and earth and the tang of lyrium, and a certain musk, sweet and delicate. "And I assure you..." he pressed the words into her skin through his lips. "Not a day goes by when I do not think of you...and they are terribly distracting thoughts indeed."  
  
The heat that filled her hands now bled out to the rest of her, painting her scarlet from her face down to her breasts. He had a way of igniting this flame in her even when she had tried for so long to keep those embers cold. Her desire was mellow and warm, lazy pleasure as she let Zevran indulge himself in admiring her form. She smirked softly at his lavishing of praises and cradled his chin in her fingertips. "Don't get too distracted, now...something might just take you by surprise." With only a glint in her eyes to reveal her intent, she delivered a sudden, hard crack of a slap to the back of his thigh.  
  
He made a noise that ended in a steamy shudder. The heat released from her fingertips crawled right down his spine and into his belly and flared up into a roaring flame of arousal. "How I enjoy surprises...and I would very much enjoy it if you did that again." His voice dropped to a rich, silky purr as he rested his cock on the thick of her thigh. "I might get a bit...out of line otherwise."  
  
Though a novice at the intimate arts, she found it easy to follow his lead. "Are you saying you need me to make you behave yourself?" she asked, with a certain authority she would never show to her other companions. "Because I _can_ do that." To prove her point, she drew her hand back and spanked him harder still, this time leaving a reddening imprint.  
  
A sharper gasp was his response, and he arched his back against the sweet sting as his cock shivered. "Mmm..." he purred, licking his lips before placing them over a soft pink nub. His tongue traced a tight circle, curling and sweeping across the nipple until he felt it rise. Licking gave way to sucking, then to tender nibbling at the alabaster flesh surrounding. "You are truly a delight to all my senses, dolce mia."  
  
A hot glow spilled from the spots where his lips touched, bringing her blood and the Taint in it to a rush. The hand that had struck him now stroked the same spot on its way up to nestle fingers in his hair. "Just...keep talking," she insisted through a heated breath.  
  
He answered with a heavy sigh into the skin below her chest while a hand squeezed each full, soft breast. "I fear that words have failed me...alas, you are too ravishing for my tongue to express." Almost immediately, he laid a trail of warm kisses down to her navel. "Fortunately for you..." he cooed, "I can do much more than speak." With that, he began a slow drag of his tongue across her belly, contouring her soft shape as he squeezed the girdle of fat around her hips.  
  
The Warden's wandering hands found her way back to her own breasts, taking over where Zevran had left off. His tongue ignited tiny pinpricks of heat under her skin, and she writhed against the fur below them in a spasm of pleasure. One leg bent and shifted, as if she were about to open them.  
  
He paused for a moment, gazing at her as if she gave off her own light. Seeing her in such a state filled him with as much pride as a well-performed kill. Yet, he did not have to shed blood, or to put himself in danger. His heart throbbed like the black wings of a bird trying to escape its cage. It wasn't the same as his usual state of arousal, a rush in his blood as he prepared for deaths both great and small. But he could ill afford to think about it now; his performance wasn't over. He massaged the plush rolls of her stomach, sinking his fingers into warm rolls and kneading them.  
  
The instant his palms touched her skin, her belly tightened and she whined in need, squeezing her breasts with fervor. "Zev...please..."  
  
There it was. The song of his success, an aria to his ears. Pressing his face against her stomach, he drew tight little circles around her belly button with the tip of his tongue. He flattened and rolled it deeper, tenderly sucking, kissing and probing with soft sounds of delight while he tucked a hand between her thighs. "Mmm..." he purred into the pillow-softness of her belly. "Si, bellissima..."  
  
When his fingers dipped down into the gap between her legs, she let them open wide. Tears of pleasure fogged her eyes as she squeezed her breasts together, recalling the heat of his lips and the caress of his hands.  
  
Two quick, bow-callused fingers spread around blushing folds, stroking against hot, wet skin and soft curls of hair. He kept a slow rhythm of these strokes while kissing the soft bulge of her lower belly. A third finger moved over to take the place of the second as he parted her lips and slid it between them, soaking it deeply in the nectar of her desire.  
  
Liquid heat filled her at the first instance of his touch, spilling out from deep inside her core. Her hips raised as if of their own accord, reaching for his skilled hand.  
  
Zevran drew his fingers away, drawing his tongue over them and sucking them clean one by one. His pleasure rolled out in a loud purr as he dipped his head down between her thighs, squeezing and massaging them with each hand. Her warm aroma drew him in further still, to press his lips against hers and part them with his tongue. He paused to let out a steaming breath and a low, fluttering hum against the tiny, swollen pearl just above.  
  
Warm tears streamed from her eyes, screwed shut as she felt the buildup of her first orgasm already on its way. It took all the will she had in her to hold it back, to not let it end so soon. She wanted to ride this wave of pleasure for as long as possible. Even thinking of his fiery copper gaze and silky voice, or that wit as sharp as his daggers, or his deft and attentive touch, that assurance of satisfying her every desire...  
  
There was a single twitch as his tongue plunged into her, and she gave a soft cry in response, his name murmured under heaving breath. Pale fingertips gone red with arousal clawed at the pelt beneath, gathering it into her palms and squeezing.  
  
Every time she said his name, his blood pulsed with lusty heat and pride. His mouth was now watering with thirst and a new eagerness to please his lover, his /dolcezza/, his Warden. Svelte bronze arms hooked around thick thighs, heavy with flesh and sinew and full of warmth and vigor. The smell of sweat and sex swirled around him in a heady cloud that stirred him into his own peak. Briefly, he pulled his lips away from hers to press needy kisses against her thighs, marveling at the way her flesh gave in against his face only to harden with the flex of muscle underneath. One hand snaked down to free his own hardening cock from his trousers as he scooped the space between her lips with his tongue. He gave himself a firm grip, beginning a slow stroke as he prodded and teased her nub.  
  
It was too late for her to stop now. The moment the tip of his tongue touched her again, she was powerless against her own need for release, only able to give in to the way her walls clenched and her back arched, head lolling back against the fur of the pelt until her soft white hair was tousled into a messy web. Her will finally broke with a gasp and a moan, full breasts rising and falling with every breath.  
  
The sight and sound made him bury a full grin in the curls of her nether hairs. It was rare that he felt such pride in himself, or such admiration for a lover. He tightened his grasp on his cock, purring with arousal as he stroked faster and with more intensity. The purring fell into full, deep licking of the cleft between her thighs. "Ah..." he let the word vibrate up from his throat, full of want. "Deliciosa...mmm, dolce..." Soft words of delight rolled from his mouth as he set himself into a comfortable rhythm, tonguing her and pumping his own length. He recalled the sting of her hand striking his backside, and the brief exchange of playful words moments before. It put a flutter in his heart and a dance in his blood like the anticipation of a kill, but without the grim end of death and bloodshed.  
  
Again and again, thrilling pulses rolled up through her body, gripping in her belly and seizing in her chest and spilling out of her in moans and sighs. The tightness of every muscle left a pleasant ache in places all over, and she finally fell limp into the waiting pelt with a heavy sigh.  
  
That last sound was enough to push Zevran to his own breaking point. His strokes became rapid and vigorous as he lapped up the rest of her fluids, his breath becoming a sharp vibrato hiss that broke into a quietly cracking whine as he spilled his own into the pelt. "Aah...hah...yes..." At last, his entire body became soft and he rolled off to Albine's side to join her in deep, relieved breaths. His trousers were still halfway down toward his knees, but he was too relaxed to care at the moment. "Mmm..." he murmured, tucking his arms behind his head. "I believe that shall be enough lessons for today, no?"  
  
As much as Albine wanted to bask in their afterglow, something much less pleasant was stirring in her blood. She had already gone back to sitting up and putting on her clothes. "Get your trousers on, we've got company headed for camp."  
  
That familiar tone meant Darkspawn. Zevran grumbled under his breath as he pulled his trousers back on and returned his daggers to their sheaths. "Alas, Warden's duties come before Warden's pleasures, as always." His tone mixed defeat and frustration at their moment of respite being so rudely interrupted. "Let us go, then, and make quick work of them." He bent down to check the lacing on his boots, and retrieved his armor from the nearby tree stump. "When this is over," he went on, "Might we retire for the evening? The sun will be nearly set by then, and I am already weary and in need of sustenance. I fear I may not even be at my best for this--"  
  
"Zev," Her curt voice severed his words. "There are only about four of them. Feels like three Genlock grunts and one emissary. If I deal with the emissary and you just stay between me and Alistair, it could be over in a matter of minutes." She stooped down to roll up the pelt, stains of seed and all and with a mental note to wash the thing later. "What do you have on you to fight with?"  
  
He stared at her for a moment as his senses came back into focus. It was impressive and a bit scary how quickly she pulled herself back together. He had to be trained to do so under pain of torture and death, and even then, he wasn't that quick. "I have my daggers," he informed her, displaying the weapons in his hands. "And the usual poisons, which I'm never without." At that, he tipped a dagger's crossguard to the small row of metal vials strapped to his thigh. "I have spider venom, Darkspawn blood--not so useful here, obviously--and that silverite elixir you concocted."  
  
The last poison perked the Warden's brows, and she nodded with approval. "Good. Get that on your daggers, _a fretta._ If we're quick enough, you can also get your bow." As she gave the commands, her cadence built into a charge like that of a war horse. "Once you've done that, silver the tips and start firing at range."  
  
His heart was already racing from anticipation of battle, but the way she ordered him to act made his blood sing. The addition of his mother tongue only heightened the rush. Had there not been an immediate threat, he'd have taken her for another kiss right then and there. "With pleasure, my Warden. You lead, and I will follow." He had said these words many times over to people who had had figurative and literal daggers at his throat, but there was a fullness and sincerity to them now he had never felt so deeply.  
  
As he watched her go on ahead, he felt a fluttering in his chest like a wild bird trying to escape a cage it was not meant to be held in. He knew this feeling well enough to know it was a dangerous distraction. Yet, despite his efforts, he could not stifle it or bury it under lewd humor and a devil-may-care outlook. He couldn't drown it in cheap fruit wine and the blood of the kill.  
  
Zevran was afraid.  
  
Zevran hated being afraid.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
